


For He On Honeydew Hath Fed

by lammermoorian



Series: sastiel drabs [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8252108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lammermoorian/pseuds/lammermoorian
Summary: Castiel has been bestowed with the honor to present himself before the mortal form of his god, the son of Dawn himself.





	

The stone steps of the temple are cold beneath his feet, for which Castiel is thankful, tempering the hot thread of desire which runs through his body. He has been given a great honor this day, to present himself before the son of Dawn for judgement, and he can only hope he is pleasing to the eye, as ungraceful and ungainly that he is. From the fleeting glimpses he’s seen in dreams and visions, the son of Dawn seems to be beautiful as the morning itself, young and fresh-faced as the dew, and Castiel can barely contain the wild beating of his heart, the trembling of his hands.

Castiel pushes aside the heavy curtain into the inner sanctum, where behind the secluded altar, a fire roars merrily in its hearth over perfumed wood, the rich and heady scent curling around his legs, crawling under his soft tunic, slipping into his nose and mouth, yet without choking him. And there, on the altar, through the thin veil, he sees a figure laid out, one arm outstretched to him, fingers beckoning. “I see you,” says the figure, in a voice like the wind through the trees. “Castiel. I see you. Come here.”

His feet walk unbidden, and he watches himself pull aside the veil as though he were in one of his dreams again. He must be, for there on the marble lies the most beautiful young man Castiel has ever seen - tall and tan, with long hair the color of earth after a storm, and broad shoulders that taper to a thin, womanly waist. One large hand is held out to him, the other wrapped around his huge, hard cock, and his green-gold eyes that seem to see into the heart of him are wide with wonder. Overcome with a certain joy, Castiel makes to kneel, speaking the words he had been taught, “Holy one, I ask you to - ”

“Yes,” the young man interrupts, whimpering, the hand that had been around himself now dips underneath, and he arches off of the altar with a cry. “Do not - ah - kneel to me, Castiel, for I have seen your soul, and I know you to be worthy. Now come _here_.”

Slowly, as though it could be snatched away at any moment, Castiel takes those long fingers in his own, kisses the smooth planes of his palm, and the young man hums with delight. “Be not afraid,” he purrs, pulling Castiel towards him. “Long have I waited for you, for this day when you would come to me, and let me claim you as mine.” And the son of Dawn reaches up to curl his hand around the curve of Castiel’s neck, and pull him down for a sweet, chaste kiss, even as he parts his thighs upon their marble bed. He opens his mouth, then, and lets Castiel ravage him with lips and teeth and tongue, lets him take without abandon. He tastes like rain, and roses, and the air after lightning, and Castiel is grateful for the stone’s support even as it presses into his knees and palms, his weak and mortal bones not nearly enough to hold himself upright, here in the face of his god.

“Then,” whispers Castiel, panting, face flushed. “Then I may…?”

“Yes,” hisses the young man. “Yes. Take of my body, Castiel, for it belongs to you now, oh!” He moans as Castiel tilts up his chin, mouthing wetly at the hinge of his jaw before gently biting down, then laving over the spot with his tongue, and he raises his hips up, a welcome invitation.

Castiel _worships_ him, in every sense; venerates lips and cheeks and hands with his mouth, lauds neck and chest and hips with his hands, exalts that secret place inside of him with every desperate thrust of his hips, and as the fire threatens to overwhelm him, the smolder at the base of his spine slowly melting his skin and muscle and bone until all that is left is his total devotion, he gasps into the young man’s ear the question he has always wished to ask. “Tell me,” he breathes, “holy one, tell me - what may I call you? What is your forbidden name?”

And the young man smiles with all of his teeth, one large hand cupping the expanse of his face, and as he whispers the name of Dawn into his ear, Castiel comes, long, hot, and hard, the fire overtaking him and leaving him breathless, weak. A finger traces the curve of his cheek, and he is surprised to find that there are tears on his face. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, “I do not deserve this mercy.” He should be dead. The name of Dawn is sacred, secret knowledge, unfit for human ears. He pulls out of that warm, tight body, heart shaking, and makes to leave the temple. He should be dead.

“Do not weep,” says S- says the young man, who had drawn his lips over Castiel’s chin so delicately, whose touch will haunt him for the rest of his days, “for I have given this gift to you freely, so that you may remember me.” He cannot look back. If he looks back, he is lost. There is a shuffle from behind him, the wet slap of skin to skin as the young man cries out, coming all over himself, and Castiel shudders. “Will you return?” he asks when he is done, voice even, measured, as if nothing had happened. As if all of this had merely been a dream to him.

Castiel draws the veil behind him, and as he walks out into the light of morning, he does not feel the coldness of the stone beneath him.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not very good at being appropriate in church
> 
> title is from kubla khan


End file.
